What if?
by isabel-graves
Summary: What if Ron never came back? What if Harry had been holding back his feelings out of respect for Ron, and sees an opportunity to make a move on Hermione? First fanfic, will be a long one. Rated M for language and suggestive content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

This was not working out. They'd been hunting horcruxes for months now with no luck. Harry could sense it, could feel it in Ron's brooding silences; he was getting fed up. Half of Harry agreed with him, wanted to chalk it up to a bad job and head back to the Burrow to see Ginny and Mrs. Weasley and all those other people who now seemed a galaxy away…but the other half of Harry was growing just as resentful of Ron as Ron was of him. He'd known what he was getting into when he'd decided to skip his 7th year at Hogwarts in lieu of a horcrux hunt, and with every grumpy mumble or roll of his eyes, Ron was inching closer to getting punched in the mouth. Accompanied with having to wear the locket and a lack of sufficient food, tensions were reaching a paramount in the tent that was, for the evening, standing near a lake somewhere in Wales.

"I've told you, Ron, I'm not going near that village. Have you forgotten the café after the wedding? Nowhere is safe, and I'm not sticking my neck out just so you can have a doughnut instead of wild mushrooms. Either eat it or shut it." Hermione, who was normally so even-tempered, had had enough of Ron's whining about her latest culinary experiment. It probably didn't help that she'd been wearing the horcrux for the past six hours. Not wanting to listen to a full-scale verbal brawl between the two, Harry got up from his place at the table and made his way to the stove where Hermione was clearly trying to hide her anger by assaulting the remaining mushrooms with a kitchen knife. After deftly sliding the locket over her head, he then placed it around his own and tucked the offending item into his sweater. She managed a small smile at him. He just gently touched her shoulder in understanding before heading back to his dinner.

Several hours later, after Ron had settled into a disgruntled slumber on the top bunk, Harry found himself outside the tent. It wasn't his turn to keep watch, but something in him felt like Hermione could use a break from everything. He couldn't help but admire her attitude. Ron was hard to be around sometimes, and on some occasions he simply had to take a walk…but Hermione handled it better. Her earlier outburst was a rare occurrence, and he would bet his entire vault at Gringotts that she was beating herself up about it.

Harry looked up quickly, a sound of rustling having startled him out of his thoughts. He drew his wand and moved his left foot underneath him, ready to jump up at the first sign of trouble.

"Relax, Harry. It's only me." Hermione spoke through the door of the tent. She poked her head out and cast a wary glance at Harry, assessing his state. She couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her when she noticed his expression. "Expecting a sneak attack out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"You say that like it's unlikely…have you forgotten that I'm Undesirable Number One?"

"Always with the humility, Harry. Ever think that maybe, just maybe, you could relax for five minutes? You're going to damper the cheery mood around here with all that talk of conflict." The sarcasm in her voice made Harry laugh, really laugh for the first time in a while. Humor was hard to maintain out here in…wherever they were, and Harry appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood.

"Wouldn't want that, would we?" The joke was short-lived as they both thought of Ron, his unpleasantness having been like a sickness these past few days. They'd taken to passing the horcrux between the two of them instead of including him in the rotation in an effort to better his mood, but it had made little difference.

"I just don't know how to help him, Harry." Hermione admitted in a pained voice. She looked up at Harry, her face full of despair, and his heart nearly broke. "He's so miserable. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to do this has a hobby…but it feels like we're losing him, Harry. It feels like he's slipping away into this…this anger. He's so angry. All the time. And I don't know what to do." She finished in a whisper, and Harry could see the moonlight reflecting off her tearstained cheeks. He had no idea what to do either, but he figured saying that would do more harm than good. Instead, he simply raised his right arm and allowed Hermione to snuggle against him, sensing that she needed the comfort of a friend. Inside, he felt just as hopeless as she sounded.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawned clear and mild, a perfect day to move campsites. Ron was sulking on his bed, his left ear angled toward the AM radio Harry and Hermione had grown to despise. Harry would never understand his fascination with the contraption…all it ever told them was depressing news of recent disappearances. However, Hermione had insisted that it was better to be as informed as possible, so Harry let it be.

Harry had mentioned needing a haircut a few days earlier, and Hermione (mainly for something to do) had offered to give it a go. He was starting to regret letting her try. Every so often she would let out a huff of breath, startling Harry into thinking she'd made a mistake. He would jump in spite of himself, causing her to jump also, increasing the chance of her making a mistake. All in all, it was turning into a very stressful ordeal, with Harry gripping the seat of the chair until his knuckles were white and Hermione grinding her teeth in frustration.

"I'm done. Your hair is impossible!" She proceeded to throw the shears (taken from a garden in Buxom) into the kitchen drawer and plop down in the chair across from Harry. He couldn't help but smile at her frazzled state. She caught his grin and felt one forming on her own face, sending them both into a fit of giggles. Giggles turned into full-fledged laughter, and soon the two of them were doubled over on the table, lost in the foolishness of the moment.

Hermione stopped mid-laugh, her eyes fixed on something behind Harry's head that clearly turned her amusement into chagrin. Harry turned to see Ron, grumpy as ever, glaring at the pair of them.

"Something funny?" He snarled. He was clearly not amused by the ridiculous display. Harry struggled to bring himself together and wiped at the moisture in his eyes before replying.

"Hermione's just realized she's horrible at haircutting. Look at the back of my head, mate. Looks like a blind man with a butcher knife got hold of me…" Harry gestured towards his head, but Ron's glare didn't fade. Instead, he simply stood there. Harry was beginning to feel awkward, but Ron spoke up in a low voice that matched his sour mood.

"I really don't know how you gits are laughing when we're in the middle of nowhere. We've got nothing to eat, nothing to do, and absolutely no clue where we're headed to next. Is it just me, or is none of that humorous?"

Harry had no reply for that. Everything Ron said was 100% true, but that didn't give him the right to say it. Instead of starting a fight, Harry made to walk around Ron towards the bunks. Ron, however, was not finished.

"No answer, eh? Nothing to say? That's just what I thought. You're as clueless as we are." Ron spat bitterly.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished him. He ignored her. Harry simply kept walking, not giving in to the urge to slap Ron across the cheek. He'd had enough of Ron's attitude, but he wasn't going to stoop to his level.

"Oi! I'm talking to you, mate!"

Turns out, Harry simply wasn't strong enough to ignore him.

"Mate? You want to sit there and call me mate after ripping me to shreds? I am so sick of your whining and crying and 'poor pitiful me' bullshit, Ron! We're in the same boat as you are! We're all hungry, we're all frustrated, we all miss our families. So either man up or get lost, Ron, because I'm sick of hearing about your problems."

"There's where you're wrong, mate. You don't have a family to miss, do you? You don't miss your mother kissing you goodnight, because you never had one!"

Harry didn't remember thinking about punching Ron, but that's exactly what he did. Square in the jaw. He didn't remember the pain in his knuckles, but he would notice the bruising later that evening. What he did remember was the look on Ron's face afterwards. It wasn't hurt, it wasn't even angry…it was mutinous. Harry, for a split second, was afraid of Ron. The look in his eyes was that of a crazed animal. He didn't even recognize him.

Instead of retaliating, however, Ron whirled around and grabbed his knapsack from the bed rail. He shoved past Harry and out the door of the tent, Hermione on his heels, begging him to stop. He didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were the hardest Harry had spent since leaving the Burrow, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty. Ron had it coming. He had been a git from time to time, but he'd never crossed a line like that. The only thing Harry truly regretted was hurting Hermione.

She was a wreck in every sense of the word. She hadn't spoken to Harry since Ron's departure, and Harry couldn't help but feel like she blamed him for it. She'd be partially right; he'd thrown the first punch. But still, he felt his actions were justified. Ron had thrown some low blows that night. And where, Harry had to wonder, had it all come from? Sure, Ron's dissatisfaction had been evident for weeks…but he'd never expected a confrontation like the one they'd had. They were best mates, since first year. Ron had been beside him through it all. Now, when it mattered the most, he had left him high and dry. Harry didn't know what to think.

Hermione apparently didn't know either, or at least wasn't sharing her thoughts with Harry. He had tried once or twice to speak to her, but to no avail. He finally realized that he was going to have to wait for her to up and leave as well or break the silence. He prayed it was the latter.

His answer finally came on the fourth day after Ron's outburst as he was keeping watch outside the tent. It was nearing nightfall, and he expected Hermione to come out and take over his post anytime. Though neither one of them was sleeping very much (Harry had been struggling with insomnia since their journey began, and Hermione had been too upset to sleep,) they had stayed separate during the evening. If Harry had learned one thing from staying at the Burrow, it was that a discontent woman warranted some space. However, as she stepped outside to keep watch and Harry got up to go inside, she put her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Will you sit with me a while?" she asked.

"Sure." He wasn't sure what else to say. He didn't know if this meant she was speaking to him again or if she simply didn't want to be alone outside, so he sat and waited for her to say something. He didn't have to wait very long.

"Harry…" she began, a torn look on her face. "I know he was out of line the other night, but try to understand…he's used to a home-cooked meal every night, a warm bed to sleep in. He knew, in theory, what we were going to go through…but he didn't _actually_ know what to expect. He's just frustrated. I know you are, too, but I think it just became too much for him. I don't think he meant those things he said to you."

Harry was growing angrier with every word. She was defending him. She was trying to make excuses for their best friend walking out on them. Right then, Harry wished she had just continued the silent treatment.

"Understand? You want me to _understand_? He left us, Hermione. Abandoned us. He knows what's at stake here, knows the danger we're going to be in, and he _left_. As far as I'm concerned, he can have his home-cooked meals. I don't need him." It was a lie, and Harry knew it, but it felt good to say it. It felt like taking a shot at Ron, though he wasn't around to hear it.

Hermione looked like he'd slapped her.

"You can't mean that, Harry. He's your best friend."

"He _was_ my best friend. He was my best mate since first year…but we were little kids back then. The fate of the wizarding world wasn't our concern. And now that it is…well, the truth comes out, I guess. I get that he's scared, but that's no excuse. Hell, I'm terrified…but I still could never turn my back on you guys. And mark my words, I will never trust him again. I can't afford to."

"So that's it? You're just going to forget about him?" she said in a shrill, panicky voice.

"What else can I do? I can't exactly go after him, Hermione. You're welcome to, but you know I can't. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even if it were possible."

Hermione sat there, staring at him with wild eyes. A sick feeling was creeping into Harry's stomach, one that told him this was the moment where he would see her true colors. She would either stay or go. He hoped she would stay, but her feelings for Ron were different than her feelings for Harry…he honestly didn't know what was going to happen next.

She stared at him for another minute before abruptly rising to her feet and storming back into the tent. He heard the bed creak as she got under the covers, and then the light inside the tent switched off. Apparently, she was staying.


	4. Chapter 4

It was approximately four in the morning when Hermione shook Harry out of his troubled sleep and demanded he get up. His first instinct took over and his wand was in his hand before he knew what was happening, but it took only a moment to realize the only danger he was in was that of rolling off the top bunk. He blinked, bleary-eyed and a little peeved, in the direction of the kitchen space to see Hermione rapidly flipping through the pages of Hogwarts: A History. As his eyes adjusted he could see various books littering the table, books that Hermione had no doubt been poring over for what Harry assumed were hours. His immediate response was curiosity; what the hell was she looking for?

"It's got to be in here, it just has to be!" Harry heard Hermione mutter in a frantic whisper as she scanned the page in front of her with her index finger.

"Um, Hermione...what are you doing?" Harry inquired warily. He was growing more concerned as he approached the table. He'd only seen her tear through books this quickly in their fourth year when he was preparing for task 2 of the Triwizard Tournament.

"It'll all makes sense when I find it, you'll see! It's got to be here..." she trailed off distractedly. Harry moved to the side of the table she was occupying and gently pried the book from her hands. She didn't even balk, just looked around as if she'd forgotten where she was.

"Can you clue me in, please? You're worrying me." Harry asked slowly, making sure he had captured her full attention.

"The sword of Gryffindor. I couldn't figure out why Dumbledore left it to you. I'd almost forgotten all about it when you mentioned Tom Riddle's diary. You destroyed it with a basilisk fang, and then killed the basilisk with the sword. Don't you see, Harry?" She looked at him expectantly, as if the entire conversation was run-of-the-mill and he was being dense.

"See what?" he asked, perplexed.

"The sword can destroy horcruxes! Harry, it can destroy horcruxes and that's why Dumbledore left it to you! Don't you understand, this changes everything!"

"Hermione...we don't have the sword of Gryffindor. You're brilliant for figuring all of this out, but we're as close to getting that sword as we are to finding another horcrux. I don't understand what you're so excited about."

Hermione's face fell and she turned to leave the kitchen, but Harry reached out and caught her by the forearm gently.

"What's wrong?"

"I just thought that if we figured out a way to destroy them you'd start to feel better about all of this. I know we're close to another horcrux, but you seem as hopeless as Ron sometimes. I just wanted to help." she finished dejectedly.

"Hermione...you help more than you can even understand. I wouldn't survive a day out here without you."

At some point in the exchange, Harry's hand had moved from her forearm to her right shoulder and Hermione took advantage of their close proximity, throwing her arms around Harry and holding on for a few moments. Harry, slightly surprised, just held her until she started to loosen her grip. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before turning and heading back to her bed. Harry had hugged Hermione loads of times, and told himself just that as he walked back to the bedroom area. Why, then, did he have to move carefully to hide his growing erection? That had certainly never happened before.

As he crawled back under his blankets his thoughts drifted back to their brief embrace. How in the world did she manage to smell so good with such little access to hygiene products? He chalked it up to her extensive mental catalog of useful spells. And her hair, it was so soft against his cheek...his musings were stirring up trouble in his boxers. They'd been away from the Burrow (and Ginny) for months and needless to say, he was a bit deprived. He used this to justify his inappropriate thoughts about the girl in the bottom bunk, and found himself wondering if she could ever look at him in a sexual way. He briefly contemplated relieving himself outside but quickly decided against it. If he were to be caught by Hermione he'd never live it down. His mind, however, wouldn't be deterred and continued to conjure up images of Hermione in, well...compromising positions, so to speak. He drifted off to sleep with those images still swirling around in his lust-fueled brain. 


End file.
